Evil
by Annamia
Summary: I am not evil. I have been called that, I know, but it is not true. I am not evil. I am cruel, and I am foolish, but I am not evil.


_Author's note: This was inspired by Update. Her founders stories got me in the right mood for this story. I would suggest that you all take a look at them, as they're amazing. She's in my fav. authors list, and several of her stories made it into my fav. stories list. They are fairly depressing, but you all should know me well enough to know that that's what I do. I've been missing this. I didn't realize until I was finished, but I really missed doing the straight angst. I think I'll get back to it.  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling has far more respect for her characters than I do, but I like them better than she does.  
--Tamara_

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I am not evil. I have been called that, I know, but it is not true. I am not evil. I am cruel, and I am foolish, but I am not evil. I have made mistakes, as have we all, but they are no worse than yours. Yet you stand before me and call me evil. You look me in the eye and say that I do not deserve to live. Yet am I worse than you?

You do not like that. You tell me that I am evil and unfit to live. You might be right about that last. I cannot know. It is not up to me. It never has been. For as long as I can remember, my fate has not been mine to decide. Yours has. You chose your destiny; mine was chosen for me. We are opposites, you and I.

And yet, perhaps, we are not so different as all that. We are alone, you and I. You do not like that either. You believe I do not know what I talk about, but you are wrong. I know you, know how you stand, know how you fight. I watch you when you do not realize. Your eyes widen, and I do not blame you. It is frightening at first, is it not? Now you know how I felt when I was first told.

Do not tell me you do not know what I mean. You know. You know as well as I do, though you will not admit it. I see it in your eyes. You gave the orders. Yes, I know you did. I do not blame you for it. I have never blamed you. I was wrong, perhaps. You did not choose your destiny. You walked a set path, just as I did. Neither of us had a choice.

You tell me that I am wrong. You tell me that I had a choice, that I could have left all that I knew and followed you. Could I? Look me in the eye and tell me that you would have accepted me. You cannot do it, can you? I thought not. You see? My path was as clearly laid out as yours. I merely saw it for what it was, while you functioned under the pretense of having a choice in the matter.

And now you stand back, your emerald eyes blazing with hatred and fear. Yes, fear. You know I speak the truth, and you do not like it. Should you? Should you like what I have to tell you? I do not think so. I do not like it either. Is it fair, that boys such as we should have such burdens placed upon us? We are still but boys, you know, for all our bluster and bravery. We are but boys who have neither mother nor safe haven. We are boys who think we are men, and there is our flaw. For boys cannot be men, hard as they try.

You want me to stop talking. You hit me to get me to stop, and the blood runs down my face and drips onto my clothes. You are afraid. You know I speak the truth, and you fear it. That is where we are different, you and I. you fear the truth; I embrace it. Be assured, I am not without fault, but that one is yours alone. I do not share it with you. Others, yes. Pride, silliness, stubbornness… all are faults that we share. But not denial. That is yours alone to bear.

You tell me that I must die, that I will die at your hand. I believe you. You will do it, I know. You must. You cannot back down now. Your very reputation stands on this. Yet I can see you do not want to. We have become friends, you and I. You snarl at me as I say this, but you know I am right. Throughout this sham of a trial, we have gotten closer, you and I, until you see me, not as an enemy to be destroyed, but as a man to be respected. You kill me with a heavy heart. That is understandable. I die with a heavy heart. I am not suicidal. I am many things, but that is not one of them.

You hand is steady as you hold out your wand, and your eyes are cold. Yet I see through them, see through you to the core of who you are. You do not want to do this. The very thought of taking my life sickens you. But you have vowed to do it, and now you must. I will not stop you.

You do not understand that. You look at me and will me to fight, will me to snarl and curse you so that you can do what you must with a guilt free conscience. I will not. I will not lessen what you will do today by fighting. I am guilty of all the crimes you have accused me of, and I will pay the price. But I will not give you the satisfaction of seeing me fight. You curse my name and my family, trying to incite a reaction. I will not give you one. I will face death with my back straight and my face composed, as is custom. You will kill me with face hard and eyes dull, as is necessary. But you will not like it, and I will know that. As you speak the words, our eyes meet, and as I fall to the ground, you know. You know what I have always know, and you understand. My unseeing eyes close, and I am at peace. You know. You know what I tried so hard to tell you, and now I can rest.

I am not evil.


End file.
